Chapter 11
What Really Happened
Sarah awoke in a brightly-lit hospital room beneath pristine starched sheets. The smell of disinfectant filled the air, making her feel like gagging.
“Where . . . ?”
“You’re in the hospital, sweetheart.” Her father’s face shone like an angel’s over her bedside, or was he simply haloed by the fluorescent light above him?
“Dad? What am I doing here?” She looked in dismay at the bed opposite her. A bandage-clad girl lay in it with her left leg elevated in traction. “We weren’t in an accident, were we?”
“Not a car accident, Sarah. Do you remember the cliff?”
“How could I forget it?” The fog in her brain retreated as her memory of the trip home suddenly became crystal clear.
“Matt!” She grabbed her father’s shirt. “Where’s Matt?”
“He’s at home. He was here for hours, but they had you sedated, so I thought he should get some rest.”
“You can’t leave him alone, Dad. He’s in danger.”
“From whom, Sarah?” he said firmly. “He’s safe in his own bed.”
“Th-the First Nations, of course.”
Her father shook his head. He smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. “No one’s going to harm Matt. Trust me.”
Although still unconvinced, Sarah let go of her father. No one had seen what she’d seen. She must sound insane to her dad. The more she persisted, the more chance the doctors would call it a delusion and keep her locked up for good. Even scarier, maybe she was crazy.
“When can I go home?” she asked.
“Not for a while. I’ve asked some specialists to look at you.”
“You mean shrinks?”
“They’re called psychiatrists. And yes, along with a neurologist.”
Sarah bit her lip. “You won’t let them drug me, will you?”
“Of course not,” said her dad. “They’re just going to check out your noggin. Then we can go home.”
“And I can see Matt?”
“Yes. Let me assure you, there wasn’t a scratch on him when I dropped him off.”
She sighed as she drifted into a peaceful sleep again. She should call Matt first, just to be sure, but she was too tired.
Sarah spent two days going through CT scans and MRIs. The doctors quizzed her and showed her ink blots to determine her mental status. Much to Sarah’s surprise, they pronounced her sane. Matt had visited her twice, so she knew he was all right. She didn’t discuss the visions with him either. She thought it best to erase them from her memory, although that was easier said than done. Only one thing disturbed her more than the visions she’d had—a phone call from her mother.
The phone had rung between scans the day before. She’d picked it up and was happy to hear her mother’s cultured voice.
“Sarah, sweetheart! I heard you had an accident.”
“Yeah, Mom. I had a little fall in a cave.”
“My goodness. What was your father thinking of, taking you into a dangerous cave?”
Sarah winced at her mother’s tone. “It wasn’t really dad’s fault. I was sort of careless. Anyway, I’m doing okay now. Are you going to come up and visit?”
“Dear, I would love to, but I have mountains of work to do. We’re getting the spring and summer fashion line-up ready for showing. Your father called me to let me know that you were in the hospital. If it were serious, I’d be there in a flash. But he assured me that you’re fine.”
“But, Mom. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, sweetheart.”
“And I want to come home.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh, um . . . I know it’s been hard. It’s an adjustment. But I think you have to give it more time.”
“Mom . . . ?”
“It would just be too difficult here for you. I’ve been working until ten or eleven at night. I wouldn’t have the time to spend with you that you need. Dad was always there to help you with your homework and make supper before he became an MP and had to travel to Ottawa. I’m sorry, Sarah. It’s just not possible.”
“Why is it possible for Dad to be a single parent, but not you?”
“Don’t be silly, dear. He’s always had more time than I have. Now I have to go. There are clients on the other line. But I’m so glad to hear that you’re all right. Love you.”
“Sure,” she said. “Bye.”
The line clicked hollowly. Sarah swiped at her tears, all the anger and hurt of the past year resurfacing. She was stuck here. Her mother didn’t want her. She couldn’t even come to visit while Sarah was in the hospital. She threw the phone down on the night table in disgust.
That night she had trouble sleeping, but she tried her best to fake it when the nurse did her rounds. The next day was torture, as she kept mulling over the conversation. But eventually, she decided to thrust it from her mind. Stranger things were happening here and she should focus on them.
Her father picked her up on Wednesday morning when the doctors signed her release papers. She skipped school that day. He played hooky from Parliament. She loved her dad dearly, but his hovering was darned annoying. On Thursday, she insisted on going to school. Even Madame Leblanc was better than this constant pampering. Her dad reluctantly agreed. But he insisted on dropping her off at the door, so she didn’t walk with Matt. She ignored the stares and whispers as she entered the classroom. Madame Leblanc nodded pleasantly to her. Sarah slipped past Matt with a sidelong wink, slid into her seat and turned towards him.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi yourself,” said Matt, grinning. “You look like a ghost.”
“I saw one,” said Sarah, the ghost of a smile on her face.
Matt chuckled. “Hey,” he said, leaning forward. “When are we going to break into the lab again?”
Ice prickled through Sarah’s skin. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea anymore.”
Matt’s face fell. “I know you’ve been sick, but this is important.”
“I know it is, but after what happened and Nadine’s threat—”
“What really happened?” he asked.
Would he understand? Did she even understand? “We’ll talk about it later,” she whispered as Madame eyed them sternly.
The morning dragged on. The weather had turned mild, and it was raining, so they were forced to spend recess indoors. Madame insisted they read or do homework, and keep silent. It wasn’t until lunchtime that Matt brought up the weird stuff again.
“Okay,” he said, munching on his ham sandwich. “Tell me what happened to you.”
“I don’t know,” said Sarah. “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. A premonition or an omen. Something bad, whatever it was. Matt, I really saw a First Nations person outside the window in the car. He was shooting at you again. I like adventure as much as the next girl, but I don’t want to see anyone die. Especially you.”
Matt grinned and grabbed her hand. He didn’t care that half the class was watching and giggling. Sarah did, but she ignored them. She squeezed his hand back.
“I’m not going to die,” said Matt firmly.
“Your dad might have.”
“Yeah,” said Matt. “Maybe. But I’m not my dad.”
Sarah took a deep breath. This probably wasn’t the right place to discuss this, but she had to know. “Matt, I think it’s time you told me the truth.”
Matt wrinkled his forehead as if the concept was confusing. “Truth?”
“About the car and the bubble. About you.”
He looked down and began chewing on his lower lip. When he met her eyes again, he nodded as if he’d finally admitted something to himself. “All right. The thing is, sometimes I do have these weird feelings, like I’m not real.”
Sarah tilted her head. “Go on.”
“It’s like I look at myself and my body is all fuzzy. When things happen—” He stopped and grimaced as if what he had to say was just too crazy to put into words. She knew the fe
eling.
“Like the car,” she prompted.
“Like the car. I black out.”
“You don’t remember what happens?”
“More than that. It’s like I’m not there. I’m somewhere else.”
“Where else?” asked Sarah.
Matt chuckled. “It’s just so crazy.”
Sarah leaned forward. “Tell me.”
“Atlantis,” he said. “Egypt. Alberta.”
“Alberta?”
“In the Jurassic period. At least I think it’s Alberta, ’cause of the number of dinosaurs. It’s only a glance, anyway. Just for a second. I really am seeing the strangest things.”
“What about First Nations people?”
“No,” said Matt. “Nobody like that.”
Sarah caught a flash out of the corner of her eye. Chelsea had stretched her skinny neck and red head awfully close to their desks. She scowled at her, and Chelsea retracted her head like a turtle.
After that, the afternoon seemed incredibly long. She yawned through geometry and napped through Shakespeare. The only time she perked up was when Mr. Fletcher continued his history lesson on Samuel de Champlain and the Algonquin Nation.
“As I mentioned before, the Algonquin were at war with the Iroquois,” said Mr. Fletcher. He wrote the word “Algonquin” on the board. He scratched some arrows, extending from it.
“Weren’t they the First Nations people who shot me?” Matt whispered in Sarah’s ear.
“Not funny,” she whispered back.
“They enlisted Champlain in attacks against the Iroquois.” He drew a line to the word “Iroquois.”
“Maybe they thought I was Iroquois.”
“Stop it, Matt.”
“But they weren’t accustomed to the organized attacks that Champlain tried to employ, so despite now having the French and some guns, they didn’t win every battle. Eventually, the Dutch and British supplied the Iroquois with firearms and they began to push the Algonquin even farther back,” Mr. Fletcher droned on.
“See, they got creamed.”
“Before this time, the Iroquois had banded together as the Five Nations, a confederacy of tribes who wanted peace—the Mohawk, the Oneida, the Cayuga, the Onondaga, and the Seneca—actually forming a blueprint for the confederacy of the United States. But they couldn’t come to terms with the Algonquin—they were always at war.”
“And they just keep coming,” said Matt.
Sarah couldn’t suppress a giggle.
Mr. Fletcher stopped. “Is there something you would like to share with the class?” He locked eyes with Matt.
“No,” said Matt, meeting the teacher’s stern gaze.
“Miss Sachs?”
“No, Mr. Fletcher,” said Sarah softly.
“They were talking about the First Nations people who attacked Matt,” Chelsea piped in from across the aisle. “The ones that Sarah keeps seeing outside her window.” She tossed her head at Sarah.
All the other students in the class hooted. Sarah opened her mouth, then slunk down in the chair. Her face flushed as she blinked back tears.
Mr. Fletcher cleared his throat. “Well, it seems that my history lessons have been making some impact. But now we’ll return to the war between—”
Chelsea, usually the model of cooperation, was not ready to let it go. “Look, Sarah. Arrows. Outside the window. Everyone duck!”
The students shrieked and dove for cover. The cacophony rattled the windows. How could she? The witch! Sarah wanted to grab her backpack and stomp out the door, but that would bring phone calls and questions and maybe more doctors. She wiped her eyes and rode out the laughter. Eventually it died down, but as she turned to look at Matt, she caught him in the act of snapping an elastic band across the room, where it whacked a student in the back of the head. She smiled. A valiant effort at revenge. But Chelsea wasn’t finished yet. She’d saved her final nastiness for the next day.